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everything else. His apathy to her had been so complete, it took him months before he realized her change of attitude.
    At first, he had wondered why. He hadn’t changed. He was the same person. Until he looked in the mirror one day for a self-portrait. His cheeks had been thick with grizzle, toughening the flawless skin that had oncebeen speckled with teenage blemishes. His eyes had deepened in color and in intensity; his mouth had turned sensual and hungry. His body had hardened from pumping iron. His forearms were developed from hours of cello playing. Suddenly he realized what had happened. Hormones and genetics had finally worked in his favor . They had turned him into a man.
    A vengeful person might have reacted with hostility. But since emotions weren’t part of his equation, he reacted as he always did. With control and calculation.
    He regarded himself through her eyes. It must have been hard for a rich, spoiled Italian princess to accept a gawky fourteen-year-old mongrel three years her junior. Her former boyfriends had been older than she—nineteen or even in their early twenties, with deep voices and developed muscles. He must have looked like a worm in comparison.
    So he decided to be gracious with her. Kind but never attentive, closed but not cold. Physical affection, of course, but only the obligatory kind if you please—a peck on the cheek, his hand on her arm as they strolled through the family’s vast country acreage.
    She knew something was off, but she couldn’t call him on it. Because he behaved like the perfect gentleman that Daddy had ordered. They played tennis together. He always won, but not by too many points. They went to the symphony together. He knew the pieces by heart, could have conducted them if push came to shove. She had a hard time staying awake. He teased her about her strong New York accent, but it was always in good humor. They went to Mass together. He prayed fervently as she sneaked him sidelong glances, her leg rubbing against his thigh.
    He jerked her around like a rag doll, kept her off balance. After the official engagement had been announced, she waited…and waited and waited. Finally, she came to him. To his amazement, she was still a virgin. So he’d been gentle with her. Gentle but dispassionate. Their firstnighttime tryst, which she had arranged to cement their relationship, had only served to increase her anxiety.
    What was wrong ?
    Nothing, it was fine .
    What could she do to please him more ?
    Nothing, he was fine .
    What could she do to make herself better ?
    Nothing, she was fine .
    He had finally gained the upper hand.
    He pulled a suitcase down from his bedroom closet. He didn’t feel like packing, so instead he lit a cigarette.
    What he really wanted was another drink .
    But that was the wrong thing to do.
    It was time to use logic, analyze why he wanted the drink so bad.
    Was it the gigs? After all these years was he finally getting performance anxiety?
    No, he never was anxious about anything.
    Was he worried about failure?
    No, he was a pro.
    Was the thrill gone?
    He sucked on his smoke.
    That was part of it. Just wasn’t as thrilling as it used to be. Truth be told, he was just going through the motions. So what? That was life, buddy. Everybody had to earn their keep. Besides, he needed the bread now more than ever because he was doling out so much of it to her.
    Her .
    Still the same thrill every time he thought about her. At least that much hadn’t changed. How she’d slipped by him in orchestra was still beyond his comprehension. He chalked it up to the way he was. He never went after girls. They had always come to him.
    Just like Cheryl.
    Not that he hadn’t noticed Cheryl. How could he not have noticed Cheryl? And yeah, he had wanted her. But Cheryl had been business as usual. He’d sent her “thevibes” and she had responded quickly…satisfyingly….
    Terry had been different. He hadn’t noticed her because she’d been buried in the back of